Breathless
by ThatTheaterFan
Summary: Priscilla is now just a ruin of its former glory ever since the outbreak of the V2 Virus, driving society into wreckage. Éponine in her safe-house, not trusting anyone; Enjolras leads his own system, never trusting the Imperium. When two fates intertwine through the rummage, what happens? And what effect does the past have to the present and the future? Apocalyptic AU É/E.
1. Chapter 1: Burgh De Rott

**So I am ready to start a new fiction, which is a timeline or an Alternative Universe rarely tackled or written in the world of Les Miserables; an apocalyptic universe. I am really really anxious to start this thing as I will need all the support I can get. As for now, my schedule is real free but I still have school, which is why I might update once a week, and all. Sooo, without further ado, I present to you: Breathless.**

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Prologue:

Five years ago, the flower stood, unharmed, waving, and unwavering. The way they blossomed from winter through spring; was the bright transition of cold warming. The grasses were unblemished and pure, innocence remained in them as they stood tall and proud. Everyone feasted in joy and in gladness as the wind gusted through the circle of the merry civilization. It was almost Eden on earth. Priscilla was known for this.

Even in calamity, they shone amidst all. Even in a little while, the earth stood still, and then the whole earth bent. To the sway of gravity upon its rotation and revolve. The way stars brimmed with heat and fire, the way comet fell with their tails ever shimmering in pride. Priscilla was known for the way she stood high and proud.

But in the worst adversity, where humanity can just withstand so much, it brings out the darkness in human hearts. Because then, these perils only have this beauty: that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers. The government, institution, civilization, society, friends, and family that you thought you knew; will vanish from the twilight and shun you, leaving you alone.

It was when the Vino Venenum Virus (also known as the V2 virus) plagued civilization, and plunged them into ruins. The V2 virus, contrary to popular belief however, does not animate the dead, but annihilates the living's sanity, turning them into a carcass of what they once were, no, not a carcass of what they once were; but a hideous abomination of what they once were. The Vivmorts.

Until you're nothing compared to what you once were, which now is lifeless, broken, and breathless.

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**Chapter 1: Burgh De Rott**

A hiss emerged out of Éponine's chapped lips as she poured out brandy towards her scraped-up blistered flesh, searing through and cleansing the dark-crimson blemish before it could infect further. "To hell with those Vivmorts," she gritted her teeth and cursed through the pain. Antiseptic supply was very vague that she had to use brandy in exchange, but that's what the Tribulation emerges from someone: creativity and resourcefulness at times where they fight tooth and nail for their life.

Living alone in a safe house was never easy. Every now and then, thought-provoking events tempt you on going to Rue de la Chanvevrie, where the wretched, downtrodden, and miserable lived a quaint and subtle life. Whenever though, she would just shrug in dissonance. The safe-house held memories, ones priceless and irreplaceable, but ones she vaguely remembered. For some reason, the safe-house had a certain eminent glow, why she was so attached to it, she never knew.

She marveled morbidly as she ran her hands through the jagged crimson curtains, and eyed the ruins of the room. "Of what once used to be so prim and elegant," she whispered as cold mist loomed from her breath towards the broken window and moistened it, with it cast the reflection of what was past. The house which once was celebrated and draped with ornate tapestries and luxurious décor, transformed to cheap furnishings, and now, to blood-washed and mutilated curtains. She heaved, sighed, and then puffed out the last remaining life of her cigarette, then fell back to the disfigured couch that smelled blood and brandy.

This was just yet another solitary night.

-Until low grunts were heard from the exterior, "Looks like I'm not alone," Éponine groaned and inhaled through her nose, with brief annoyance. "Damnations won't just leave me alone," She sprang up and scurried towards the rotting-silver safe, cursing her fractured speed.

The sounds of low growls shifted to heavy poundings that clashed towards her makeshift door. "This wouldn't last too long," she swallowed hard, bit her lower lip, and clutched the revolver tightly. The Vivmorts attack at the most random times, turning Montreuil-sur-Mer into Burgh De Rott as quick as it was five years ago. Why she lived in the city, she always knew. Why she stayed in the city, she never knew. It wasn't seconds before and the door plunged open, and all of contemplation seeped back into reality.

The Vivmorts managed to destroy the makeshift door and there they were; slouched in their backs, as an emerald and acidic venom dripped from the corner of their mouth as they stared upon their victim. Éponine gripped her revolver tighter than her previous hold, and then when the first Vivmort's mouth twitched, and its hollowed eyes flickered – longing for its victim, she raised her revolver against it and began to fire bullets, she shut her eyes from its recoil.

With every turn of the revolver's barrel, was every hole to the Vivmort's weak spot, which is, its heart. And with each bullet to the heart, was the quicker pace of its movement. The problem there was with the anatomy of the Vivmorts, was that when they are close to their final call, they become much stronger, faster, and aggressive.

Éponine almost won. The first Vivmort raged at the holes of its heart, enjoying its newfound strength. It sprang in different sides of her safe-house, surrounding her vision as it sped up towards her. She, however fired whenever the chance was there, and maintained a fair distance against the Vivmort that paced closer. She was all too caught up in the adrenaline.

Éponine moved backwards but tripped from a sackcloth lying on the ground. The Vivmort surged towards her, and when it was inches away, it licked the venom that dripped from its mouth and growled.

As the creature neared closer, Éponine took the opportunity and leapt backwards into thin air, landing upon the old wood dresser previously on her back. Shattered glasses that lay flat on the dresser scraped the sole of her feet – failing to maintain her balance, she fell flat on the other side of the ground.

Where another Vivmort leered at her.

She cocked her head, bit her cheeks, and launched a sliding kick on the second Vivmort's lower part, making the abomination hiss as it landed on its back. ponine took the opportunity to scurry away and head towards the jammed backdoor – praying to God that it would open. Éponine tilted her head towards the Vivmorts who slowly woke while she tried to pry the door open. The first and second Vivmort, dashed on both opposite sides of the east and west of her vision, and the third one entered the scene, and completed the threat.

Éponine's lip formed into a thin line as the three of them sneered and darted at her – holding out their fingers into a clawed manner – which she grabbed the crowbar that lied by her side and whirled it at all sides possible - her limbs positioned in a compromising way gave more advantage to the Vivmorts attacking. She failed however. The rusting crowbar that she formerly used melted in emerald acid.

The moment that their rotting flesh made contact with her skin that's smeared with grime and ashes; she shut her eyes tightly and waited for death to come.

It was too hopeless. Éponine saw blurred motion, and she was all too concerned and concentrated at the breath of death that swooshed through her neck; which was cold, and dismal. She heard vague, and through its vagueness, she wasn't able to pick up what exactly happened.

Too vague to hear the sounds of gunshot that pierced towards the three Vivmorts that surrounded her as she sat in her place – trembling and shielding herself from the world.

"Are you okay?" A man rushed towards her collapsing figure; his ginger locks were messy and his face was soiled – youth appeared through the small freckles on his forehead. He held his hand to support her shoulder, and then shifted to a more comfortable position to steady her posture.

"Marius is everything okay?" Another man emerged from the front door - someone who looked little years older than the first.

"Yeah, I just - need a little help in here Feuilly." Marius' voice strained as he held both of her back and thighs to help her get up. Feuilly rushed towards Marius and crouched so that they are almost on the same level. "Is everything okay?" Feuilly repeated – ready for any help needed.

"Yeah," Éponine groaned, one which earned complete attention from Marius and Feuilly. She helped herself up – her hand placing pressure on Marius' shoulder to gain balance for standing up. She snapped back to reality; there were neither Vivmorts nor death that threatens her, for now. Fixing her tanktop, Èponine crossed both of her arms in a manner to keep herself warm. "Thank you," she looked at her savior, in his eyes – which she stared at for a fleeting moment.

"Yeah, welcome." Marius grinned and dusted off his right hand through his waistcoat. Marius stuck his hand out directed towards Éponine, "I'm Marius."

She cracked a small smile and nodded, "I-I'm Éponine," she stuttered out; lost between the emerald glow of his eyes and the spots in his face that proved to be freckles

"So… Hello there, this is Feuilly, and we were sent here to investigate," and before she could open her mouth to interrogate, he continued, "the whole Burgh De Rott in general." She crossed both of her arms, in an attempt to indicate Marius to go on. "Then we found you," Marius gestured both of his hands that fell slowly with palms open which pointed towards Éponine.

"Are you living alone?" Feuilly blurted, two of his hands shoved in each of his denim's pockets as he looked around the mansion.

"Obviously," she spoke sharper than intended.

Feuilly raised his left brow and Marius stared at the exchange with his mouth half-opened.

"Any siblings?" Feuilly asked.

Éponine's jaw clenched – unnoticeably and she replied, "No."

"Parents?"

"Far away," she sneered and took a sharp breath through her nose.

"How long have you been here?"

"Five years," Éponine bit, with a restrained annoyance – the last thing she would ever need of the moment was to be an ingrate towards the people who saved her.

"I do not know if you have heard about the Rue de la Chanvevrie but-"

"I have heard about it, but the answer is no, I won't come." Éponine leaned down and took a cloth to wipe off the grime that caked towards her skin during the whole encounter, and the ones before. A sharp intake of breath resonated the moment the cloth made contact with a bruise on her shoulder.

"Please, Ms. Éponine, this is a dangerous place." Feuilly pleaded more – concern resonated from the glow of his eyes and from the curve of his brows.

"Five years," she breathed, "I've been in this house for five years. I can take care of myself," she stood up and threw the cloth on top of the dresser – with succeeding accuracy.

"We are only concerned about you," Marius stated softly – in contrast to Feuilly's abrupt and concise words and tone. "Anyhow, if you change your mind, you can always come to Rue de la Chanvevrie." He smiled. "You know where it is right?"

She nodded in response. _Not you, neither I, know why I am not in that place yet,_ the languid voice whispered at the back of her head – which flew to accuse her and retreat immediately; it was an ocean that barks to threaten, which then after, immediately recoils and back-flows.

"We'll see you then, take care!" Marius grinned and patted Feuilly – whose eyes never left the surroundings of Montfermeil. "Let's go."

With the two of them gone, Éponine melted by the nearest couch, slowly drifting and succumbing to exhaustion and rest, But being a light-sleeper, she couldn't shun the thoughts of her savior, which woke her up for the rest of the night.

* * *

Heaps of dust swooshed across the atmosphere, almost blending with the charred posters that circulated across Rue de la Chanvevrie; though all of these attributes that made up Rue de la Chanvevrie were cloaked under the mask of the night. Instead, the noise that resounded during dawn and beyond, fell into an empathic silence – which motioned towards the near start of Les Amis l'Abaisse' meeting. The meeting is hours from the current time.

"So as I have said, Enjolras, we are in demand of more supplies to fortify the walls that keeps away the Vivmorts that threatens our citizens." Combeferre says, putting aside his leather-bound journal and channeling his focus solely on the topic.

"What you have mentioned, Combeferre does prove a valid point. This is why I sent Marius and Feuilly to scout the periphery of Burgh De Rott, formerly Montreuil-sur-Mer." Enjolras stated simply.

"What?" Combeferre winced for a brief moment.

"You have heard me," Enjolras replies quick, shifting between the pages of his timeworn book.

"Enjolras you could possibly end- well, never mind. I trust you, _my friend_." Combeferre returns to his journal, writing out several necessities to uphold Rue de la Chanvevrie.

"Thank you." Enjolras grunted.

An empathic lull filled the room afterwards.

"Well Montreuil-sur-Mer has changed rather drastically, doesn't it?" Combeferre pats his journal after closing it once again, this time with a fulfilled goal.

"It really did…" Enjolras paused, and stared at the fireplace momentarily; in the appearance of contemplation.

"So what's your plan now?"

"You'll see," Enjolras smirked at his friend.

* * *

Collective amounts of Les Amis l'Abaisse – or Les Amis have gathered in Musain by midnight. Each of them had their own duties to report; each of them had objects grasped in their hands. As the meeting went on, each took turns in reporting the status of the subject they were assigned to. With the guidance of Combeferre's philosophy, and Enjolras' logic; solutions were raised in a collaborative effort. And behind the stoic and somewhat pensive appearance of Enjolras throughout the exchange, was an agenda that could make or break Rue de La Chanvevrie.

"Some of you might have been contemplating why I sent Feuilly and Marius to scout the periphery, or the outskirts of Burgh De Rott," Enjolras spoke pontifical and warlike, a voice crisp and clear, and without any errancy due. It was impossible, and somewhat frightening to interfere. "I present to you, Les Amis, a scheme that I pieced together for months, if not, years. An impending extension that will stretch our boundary for a superior cause," he says, with an illustrious tone almost as ethereal as gold, but severe like wildfire.

Heads turned towards each other in gazes so confused and pensive.

"My friends, _this _will mold us further to improvement," a chart unfolded end to end in the chalkboard, opposite where the fireplace stood. The chart exhibited a vibrant illustration of Rue de La Chanvevrie extending towards Burgh De Rott, mainly towards the margin of it, Montfermeil; a few miles away from the Imperium – the silver city which stood proud and mighty. Several whispers of doubts and agreement cluttered and filled the quiet room.

Combeferre hollowed both sides of his cheeks and bit it. Instead of abrupt rectification, he thought that observing might be the best option for the moment.

"I'm not quite sure about that Enjolras," Marius' dreamy voice stood out in its disagreement, his statement earned a glance from the man in question. Despite the disapproving gazes from Courfeyrac, Marius continued, "The girl, who resides in Montfermeil, is hesitant to even leave the place. I came to the idea that she holds this place dearly."

"Marius, tell me. Why should we barter _one _girl's sentiments to a possible Utopia available for everyone who needs it?" Enjolras' question was rhetoric and rhetorical. The faces of the Amis exhibited tension; to Jehan, somberness, to Joly, panic.

"Enjolras, would you just stop looking at the big picture? We do not even hold enough rights to this land, as she probably does – for us to seize it as if it's some sort of territory of the enemy!" Marius explains, rather than exclaims.

"If you do not believe that this scheme is of greater significance than little sentiments, then the door is widely open. If you do not believe in the logic of this situation, then you may freely return to Imperium," Enjolras coldly says – steadfast and horrifying.

"Stop this, both of you. This can be settled in a more civilized manner," Combeferre stands and cuts in, walking towards the middle of the opposing forces.

"No, I will just leave, for some fresh air maybe," Marius nodded and casted his gaze downwards. "Thank you for the night," He then gave Courfeyrac a tap and retreated.

Combeferre ran a hand towards his hair and shut his eyes tight for a brief moment, before Enjolras spoke again, "Does anyone still wishes to oppose the very cause of Rue de la Chanvevrie? With all self-centeredness, to begrudge _our _society the comfort and justice it deserves?"

"I oppose."

A thick female voice emerged from the door which Marius previously left for a few minutes ago. She stepped out of the shadows and into the fire-lit room of Musain. Feuilly's eyes widened as Joly might have were it that he were in the same place as he – who recognized the girl.

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**Tell me what you think, or what part you like, or tell me anything at all! PM/Review/Favorite/Follow, anything! I have decided where I want this story to lead, but I am still open to further suggestions. Reviews are fuel/gasoline btw! *note* I edited this a bit.**


	2. Chapter 2: Opposition

**So I updated and edited a few things last chapter, as I realized that there indeed are SOOO MUCH errors. Well anyways, here's the second chapter! Also, thanks for the favorites, follows, and reviews! I GREATLY appreciate them ya kno!**

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**Chapter 2: Opposition**

Éponine's form stood against every man in Les Amis, or to be precise, Musain. Her frame painted a stark contrast against each of them. While their skins were soiled and they had proper sanitation, her complexion remained wild and unkempt; judging from the timeworn black leather coat, the rusting soles of a battle boots, the bedraggled and dirty hair, the flash of grief behind her brown orbs, most of all, the weak and faltering stance. But just as the clutters of the city were masked through dusk, all of these cowered behind her and out of it emerged an angry bearing.

"…And you are?" Enjolras glared at the girl, fully unprepared for that sudden moment.

"The one who lives in Montfermeil, that _rat _you would want to exterminate _out _of her own home," Éponine crossed both of her arms and narrowed her eyes. Her breathing quickened, and this resulted more panic from Joly's eyes.

Enjolras stiffened momentarily, an act that could easily be missed by everyone in the room. "Rat is probably not the best term you could describe and pair with my selection of words," He channeled the last remaining quarter of his attention to her, marble and fiery-like.

"Oh really? Well I'm sorry for not saying the _exact _same words that _you _pertained to-" a dry cough halted her words for a brief moment - a deed that happened to fuel Joly's worry even more - but she continued after a few seconds, "-So you think you understand me _Monsieur_ Hero? So you think that Montfermeil is purely sentimental?"

"Sentimental may it be or not; think about the greater good that _everyone _shall experience," Enjolras tried.

She stopped for a moment; he figured that it was due to contemplation. While so; he took the liberty to study her features and it came quite blatant to him that she was not well-nourished – not that her cheeks were _too _sunken, but the faint brightness of her emanation that always threatened to fade sooner or later. For an easily missed and fleeting moment, her eyes flashed an emotion which seemed like a grimace – which disappeared quickly and fell into a blank stare, and then she opened her mouth to speak.

"Say what you want to say, but you are right," his face lit up quite a bit akin to how a marble will - stoic, "I am a selfish creature and _I_ _would _trade _other's _comfort for _my_ own ends."

"If you would think further about it, Mademoiselle…" he trailed off, unknown to him what her name is,

"Éponine," she added coldly.

Combeferre saw the cold exchanges between the two, and the previously forgotten tension that Marius left; he thought better and motioned for everyone to turn in for the night and rest. They left in haste and caution, though this did nothing to help the tension. Combeferre stayed and sat on one of the chairs situated near the fireplace.

Enjolras cleared his throat and continued before where the lull left them, "So as I wanted to say," he searched Éponine for any signs of agreement or disagreement – but was only met with a deadpan stare, urging him to continue, "You'll only benefit better if you reside in Rue de la Chanvevrie and let us annex towards the outskirt of Burgh De Rott is by chance, your Montfermeil."

She stared at the ground momentarily – her arms still crossed. No matter how pontifical and noble the cause sounded to her, it only benefits her least. Not that she would give in; she'd just like to see how far he would go for his little scheme. "Is that it?" She finally spoke.

"That is only what I could offer," Enjolras replied sternly, he'll never compromise.

"I have something in my mind," Combeferre interrupted – his voice subtle and steady.

"Do speak up," Enjolras' directed his voice and head towards Combeferre, and so did Éponine.

"Éponine," Combeferre started – the first taste of speaking the girl's name required her permission; wherein a raise of both brows was her affirmative response, so he continued, "This is your first time in Rue de la Chanvevrie, I'm assuming. Yes?"

She nodded once.

"Well then, why don't you stay here for at least a week?" Combeferre offered, and before she could oblige or refuses – or just perhaps say something, despite the disapproving glares that Enjolras sent his way, he continued, "There's a fairly well community that Rue de la Chanvevrie keeps, I offer you for that one week a decent flat of your own just between Enjolras' flat and my flat. You are also cordially welcome to Musain, were it that you want to attend meetings."

A tiny smile cracked involuntarily over Éponine's lips – out of amusement, and she was probably not aware of it. If amusement was of Éponine's, Enjolras was a different story; a frown sank over his sapphire eyes and peerless lips. But the amused expression of Eponine disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

The proposal seemed like the devil's enticing offer – almost perfect to an extent. But she was afraid that her time of bliss as she assumed it would be would make her forget the value of Montfermeil that she held to herself dearly. _Dearly, _she thought to herself. "And what do you take… in return?"

"I'd be honest mademoiselle," Combeferre slowed down, "We would not take anything in return," she raised her brow – "but all I ask is for you to consider the possibility of staying in Rue de la Chanvevrie and the possibility of it annexing towards Montfermeil."

"Combeferre," Enjolras warned – only to receive a hand raised half-length to stop him.

Combeferre gazed at Éponine earnestly, as so did Enjolras, but a bit unwilling and hesitant.

"Don't be so sure among yourselves that I will give Montfermeil up," she spoke at long last after a full minute of silence. Combeferre took this as an affirmative response and said, "Well then, will you pleasure to start today?" She nodded.

"I'll let Madame Houcheloup escort you towards your flat," he gently placed a hand on her left shoulder – only to feel her flinch at his touch – he withdrew his hand hastily and murmured an apology; to which Enjolras found strange. "I'll go call her," Combeferre continued and headed downstairs.

What seemed like long-and-agonizing-hours that in reality were just a few minutes were filled with stares and glares. The glares were most delivered by Enjolras directed towards Éponine; and the stares by Éponine directed towards anywhere, anywhere but Enjolras. The moment she took a split-second of glance towards his eyes – she caught it softened a little and fell into an observant gaze – which disappeared as abrupt as her glance took, and his eyes fell back into stoicism.

A tiny restrained cough that resonated from Éponine seemed to break this wall of silence that separated each other's presence. Taking that opportunity, he grumbled, "Rue de la Chanvevrie is a steady community. Enjoy your stay." Rather than welcoming, a harsh and sardonic tone emerged from the statement; even if it appeared to be masked with apathy.

"Stop flattering yourself," she retorted.

Just when he was about to crease his brows at her lack of tact and cultivation that paired along with her unkempt appearance and the stench of brandy that dawned from her breath; all of these sunk into an intelligent silence that soon was tapped from afar with constant chattering coming from a woman and abbreviated responses from a man.

Out of the distant shadows came Combeferre and Madame Houcheloup.

"Well then Éponine, I'll leave you to Madame Houcheloup who will escort you towards your flat," Combeferre's lips curved up to a restrained smile. It was past midnight and perhaps that was the most genuine smile he could give for the night. She nods in response and trails after Madame Houcheloup much like the shadow she always had been; lingering through the empty little spaces of the nearing-empty halls. The two faded from eyesight as Combeferre sat in deep sigh,

"Well?" Enjolras slurred, his lids came half-closed, as Combeferre's lids were wide open.

"We need to talk, Enjolras."

"Just what I would have said."

* * *

Madame Houcheloup lit the first candle that greeted them at the flat's thin wooden door, which apparently does not give enough privacy as the flat was amidst Combeferre and Enjolras' and the walls that separated them were lanky. The door held heraldic carvings that begun from its frame up to the surroundings of the doorknob, one which rather explained the scent of ink and parchment as Madame Houcheloup opened the door.

"We try to save electricity, so we use natural light," Madame Houcheloup says and leads Éponine inside the medium-sized flat. Éponine just hollowed both of her cheeks in response to this.

The flat sure exceeded an expectation within her that was rather low. At the rightmost and end corner of the flat was a medium-sized bed, suitable for one and a half person, the bed was composed of light-colored hardwood and ivory-colored sheets, all those with a feather-light and fluffy-looking pillow. By the upper-side of that end was a restroom, and by the left of it was a fairly small steel kitchen that's topped with white marble. A round coffee table with three chairs stood south of the kitchen. All of these were hidden, or rather barely seen – because of the heavy white veil that separated it from the part of the room where Éponine supposed the guests enter.

Éponine paced hastily towards the white veil and poked it using her index finger, and thereafter, she winced. Éponine crumpled her nose in a frown, which disappeared as soon as Madame Houcheloup cleared her throat.

"Just call me if you need some more help, even in the middle of the night. It won't be nice to bother Monsieur Enjolras or abuse the kindness of Monsieur Combeferre," Madame Houcheloup twists the upper-left corner of her mouth and managed to make it look like a sneer, but with those, she left.

Éponine glared at the door from which Madame Houcheloup previously left out for a fleeting moment – which was then replaced by a marveled look through the guest section of _her_ temporary flat. She sat on the couch opposite the little bookshelf and table in one form; wherein the bookshelf looked like a closed cabinet situated above the wooden platform where a pen was placed on the right and a parchment on the centre.

She entered the veil carefully, as cautious not to blight it with the unearthly filth that crusted all-over her skin – or so she thinks that that's how dirty she was at the moment. Éponine already planned the order of things she would do; that is for now to check the dresser south of the bed and see if there was something she could change to, and if there would be, she would take a nice long and relaxing bath.

_The nerve you've got Éponine, she_ thought to herself. _But if you are saving your shame, just let yourself know that you've lost it ages ago._

With a resigned sigh, she pulled the dresser and found a large white button-up shirt that appeared to be a man's shirt. She pulled the three remaining compartments below the first and found apparels for men – and complicated ones at that – to the extent that only a few and desperate females would dare use. _Well that doesn't mean I can't wear em', _she shrugged and took the button-up shirt and a black underwear, and then headed towards the bathroom.

As the clothes began to slip through her left-shoulder, it hit a rather painful spot in it which elicited a sharp hiss from Éponine. It was quick to fade however, and for that moment, water ran and consumed the grimes in her skin and cradled her defenses into a subtle ease.

* * *

"What I am saying, Enjolras, is at least treat her as a citizen you claim everybody has the right to be," Combeferre firmly places his hand at his friend's shoulder.

"She's impolite," Enjolras lists down, "she's arrogant, she's an ingrate-"

"-She's everything wrong that blights the glorious name of a Republic," Combeferre finishes.

"You know me," Enjolras relaxed in his seat, then chuckled and sighed with raised brows.

"Of course I do, and won't it be better if she agrees to stay in Rue de la Chanvevrie?" Combeferre puts off his hand and crosses his arm, "Don't get me wrong, I am still unhappy about the agenda that you hid from everyone. But if the girl decides to stay in Rue de la Chanvevrie, that would be the completion of your project."

_Except, you gave her Courfeyrac's flat, _the unspoken words lingered across his head at Combeferre's latter sentence. Enjolras took a deep breath and replied, "Well, you're most of the time correct whenever you rectify me Combeferre; however I have a very good reason why I hid it from everyone."

"I'm sure you do," Combeferre says dismissively. He then straightened his posture and stood, "Now I'm sure you still have lots to do, namely finding faults in the Imperium. We should retreat to our respective flats," he looked at his ticking watch, "it is way past midnight."

Enjolras stood up and walks from Café Musain with crossed arms, "Combeferre we all know that the Imperium stains the very creed of Priscilla. Especially, the ones who promised a bright future to everyone years ago were the first ones to shield the elite and shun the rest of the civilization away – only to be consumed by the Tribulation."

"Ah, yes, I can clearly remember why Rue de la Chanvevrie was built in the first place," Combeferre inhaled the air of night and hopefully stares at the streetlamps that illuminated their way home.

"I clearly oppose every laws of the Imperium, it's a morbid reflection of what Priscilla once was, except, it's now stained with the hypocrisy of the ones who lead it, and the ones who surrounds it. We fight because they are the real abominations, and the cancer of our beloved country," Enjolras glared at the ground, but even so, he managed to stay above it and speak in a severe and stern manner all the same. It was a threat and a promise.

"But that's what differentiates me from you, Enjolras. I respect everything that you fight for, because I believe in your cause and above all of that, I believe in _you_. Let's say I care much more about the welfare of these citizens, as what the Imperium does is not anywhere near gracious and humane."

"Well, I appreciate you, my friend." Enjolras started and now directed his stare towards the mid-horizon. "Don't get me wrong, half the reason of what I do right now is an apology to an event I was too weak to defy…" his face and voice fell into sadness.

"So do you swear by the Republic that you'd treat her as a… guest?" Combeferre blurted out, eager to change the topic.

"I can't promise anything."

_Not in the name of our dear Republic,_ he thought. _Not in the name of Them as well._

* * *

Enjolras would usually wake before the sun completely takes over the horizon and bless everyone with its rays that brings warmth through the sorrows of winter. The peculiarity of all this was how it was paralleled to the current circumstance happening between Imperium and Rue de la Chanvevrie. But then so, Enjolras was a man whom which his Creator sewed irony into his sinews.

The sun's rays had no effect on him, or at least, had no effect on him as to what he thinks of himself and his surroundings. But even so, it had cast a certain glow around his hair that it's almost paralleled to a halo. It was a halo that crowned the man who hated the Throne and loved the Republic. This was almost a circulating joke around Les Amis; which is, no matter how much he denied it, a part reason as to why he would rise earlier before the sun does.

And when he doesn't, there starts a morning of aggravation.

He rushed out of the door, and saw Courfeyrac sitting in the bench in front of his old flat, which now is Éponine's temporary flat. "Courfeyrac, if you're here about the flat, it was Combef-"

"No no no," Courfeyrac smiled cheerfully, "I was here to bring food and welcome our guest, but I guess she's not inside," he continued, "pun intended!" he grinned even wider.

"Always cheery aren't you?" Enjolras stated plainly and narrowed his eyes at the sun's glare.

"I suppose," Courfeyrac shrugged, still grinning, and then looked at Enjolras' matted morning-hair. And when he was just about to make a quick-comment about it, Feuilly came rushing towards the two of them - breathing heavily and approached with a ragged complexion.

"Whoa, slow down, you look like death!" Courfeyrac exclaimed and stood to place both of his hands on both of Feuilly's arms in an attempt to calm him.

"A Vivmort managed to-" he panted heavily, "-break one of our entrance and now everyone's in a commotion."

Enjolras nods and calmly says, "Where is it?"

"At the city's square."

By the time Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly reached the square, the Vivmort was close to its final breath, as it now is unstoppable and wild. It shook its arms at all sides, its emerald venom drops were spotted everywhere, and by the right side of a wall, Joly was nursing Bahorel's unconscious state. What was most surprising was that someone, a lady in a tattered button-up shirt that Courfeyrac recognized to be his, and barely wore any trousers; engaged in a duel with the Vivmort, only approaching with sly tactics, and carefully calculated moves.

And when the Vivmort breathed its last, she fell to the cobblestones of Rue de la Chanvevrie and heard a faint clap that resonated from the man whose hair framed his face with all the glory of an archangel.

"Strength is what tears hundreds of men; but wits are what wins a war," Enjolras slowly approached her. "I am impressed," he held his hand in an offer to help her stand, to which she rudely glared at and refused.

Éponine stood up in a strained face and imbalanced posture, "Of course you are."

Enjolras tried to ignore the sardonic response and raised his chin, "So… If I may ask, what is your name?" before she could further retort, he continued, "your surname."

She bit her lips in hesitation, but then gave up and rasped, "Thénardier."

With the split-second time that the name was uttered, Enjolras froze.

* * *

***I edited it a bit, and I'm really sorry if the writing-style in here is not as good as the first chapter.***

**I actually placed a cliffhanger. Haha! To be honest, there's alot more in this story to that! Hahahahah *evil laugh* Anyways, tell me what you thought about this chapter through reviews, and maybe even PMs! Oh and I'd like to thank _insignificantramblings_ for being an awesome author of another mysterious fiction called, "Guilt."**

**R&R!**


	3. Chapter 3: Cat Got Your Tongue

**I AM REALLY REALLY SORRY FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS CHAPTER, THIS WAS UBER HARD TO WRITE. Yeah, excuses, but hey I got into some trouble in school and all that jazz. Okay now I'm not making sense. Anyways, I wanted this to get out ASAP so there was minimal editing done.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Cat Got Your Tongue**

His gaze lingered earthward as it shifted to its left and right. A clock ticking; frantic to be heard, abrupt when it's due. Enjolras inwardly licked his lower-lip which was formed into a thin line, peered at Éponine, and opened his mouth to produce a word, to which he failed.

"What's the matter?" Éponine tilted her head, smirked and resumed, "Cat got your tongue?"

Enjolras' eyes squeezed tight for a second as it then opened up with constricted pupils, his gaze remained constant afterwards. "No, it's just, by any cha-" he shook his head and sighed, "The sun sure does glare without normalcy considering that it's winter."

"It's always like this," Éponine flashed a glance towards the sun with squinted eyes, her right arm traveled towards her hips to support her posture. Her gaze then maneuvered towards him, her lip sealed from end to end, a slight display of her dimples, "Spit it out."

Enjolras, before getting a chance to respond was halted by Joly who settled his hand on Enjolras' arm and began to squeeze it. "Not that I want to interrupt your… sweet interaction," Joly glanced at Éponine and then back to Enjolras, panic infiltrating through his features, "I think we have to put her under quarantine."

Joly was met with confused countenance from each of the two, hence why, he cleared his throat and proceeded in explanation, "The venom of the Vivmorts might have infected you," said Joly softly, cautious not to sound brash. A tightening of jaw resonated from Enjolras, and Éponine restrained a crack of laughter. "And perhaps, Combeferre might tend to your blisters and scrapes – oh you also cough often, it's probably the winter flu isn't it? But probably it's something serious, possibly an infection in one of your blisters – goodness, did you put the right antiseptic when the wound was-"

"Joly, that's enough," Combeferre approached the three of them, charged Joly into hindsight, and stood in the midst of Éponine and Enjolras. "I apologize about that, Éponine."

Éponine shrugged in response, but fought back a muscle strain that left a sharp ache towards her features.

"I might as well check your health condition," Combeferre took his square glasses off and clarified its bleary qualities deliberately, all these being done with his gaze never leaving Éponine's, but that hastily shifted towards a dumbfound Enjolras. "Enjolras?" Combeferre called his attention with a creased forehead.

Snapped out of contemplation, a previously meditative gaze deviated into a surprised visage, "Yes?"

Combeferre wore his glasses and ran a hand through his hair, "I will be borrowing Éponine for a moment."

"I don't see why you should need my permission to do that," Enjolras crossed both of his arms; the surge of question at his defenses is now long-forgotten.

"I believe it's a _polite_ thing to do," Combeferre grinned at Enjolras, to which he received a brief glare for.

"I'm _not_ infected," Éponine limped to gather further distance from the two of them; her right hand supported her left shoulder. It was a pitiful sight.

"But you are injured," Enjolras snorted. _Stop acting like you are in knowledge of everything, _he wanted to say. His bedraggled hair billowed southwards as a blast of wind met their way, as gratuitous coughs met her way, giving Enjolras a foothold to say, "And you are ill."

Éponine's cheeks that were made crimson due to constant coughing hollowed itself and involuntary, thereafter, she glared at Enjolras; a quick acknowledgment that he was right. That didn't stop at that however; her glare shifted back and forth Enjolras and Combeferre. After a few more seconds of those, she sighed in defeat. "I'll go."

Combeferre gazed at Enjolras with a smile that murmured gratitude, his posture straightened then and he paced towards Éponine, "Well then, I shall call for a wheelchair-"

"No!" Éponine blurted abruptly. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut for a second and calmly said, "I can walk, and I will walk."

As a final speck of ego that remained in her came in exhibition, Combeferre shrugged, "Okay then."

A few more minutes, Combeferre and Éponine strode out of vision, Enjolras established his gaze straight towards the horizon; now only occupied with children that revolved around the city square to horse around and loiter the streets. His gaze went past through this sight, and to the realms of what the mind concedes. A soul gazed into song.

Courfeyrac, however, who had witnessed the whole exchange with his arms resting opposite his hips grinned at Enjolras and tapped his shoulder cautiously, to which Enjolras tilted his head to meet Courfeyrac's approach. Upon getting his attention, Courfeyrac glanced up the sky, echoed Enjolras' words, and mocked, "The weather sure is without normalcy today."

"Shut up," Enjolras glowered.

* * *

Joly fervently tapped his foot, perked his head towards Combeferre who entered the room not a few seconds ago. "Well?"

"It appears that your quick-diagnosis is right," Combeferre adjusted his glasses and pressed it further his nose bridge using his middle finger, "Her fever seems to be dawning, and yes, it's because of the infection – not the Vivmort infection, but the infection of her ill-cared wound." At this statement, Joly grinned and drew his hand towards Feuilly who handed him a couple of coins.

Combeferre seemed to ignore this action and proceeded to sit beside Joly and evoked a resigned sigh.

"I still believe that she has a V2 virus infection," Joly babbled.

"I doubt it," Feuilly broke his silence; his right hand clutched the edge of the bench they were sitting in.

"Oh?" Combeferre was quick to react.

"I just… I don't think she could ever be infected, if that's possible," Feuilly gazed up at Combeferre, seeking for assurance that his ramblings are not disregarded, "Five years is a lo-"

"Hello there!" Courfeyrac loudly barreled through the door, his right arm established controlled contact with the wooden entrance, furnishing the room with abrupt joy and enthusiasm that radiated through the sleek walls of Combeferre's clinic. At his hindmost, were Grantaire and Bahorel who trailed after him in their inebriated bearings and slurred aspects.

"Hey," Combeferre replied lowly and exasperated. Courfeyrac rushed over Combeferre and sat at the edge of his seat, drummed his right hand at Combeferre's right shoulder lighthearted vigor, "Why the tired tone, 'Ferre? Something wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong, it's just been a… really tiring afternoon," Combeferre grunted, highly unlikely.

Courfeyrac straightened, his expression turned empathic, "What's up?"

"The roof," Bahorel managed to quip out of his drunken haze.

"Ah, whether or not the skies brim with the stars in their respective courses above our roof, we all know that we are bound for damnation! Hooray for the Tribulation!" Grantaire thrusts his head upwards for the one final time and orbited back to the domain of slumber.

"That's Grantaire for you," Bahorel soon joins Grantaire in slumber.

"That's Bahorel for you," Courfeyrac shook his head, looked at Combeferre and asked, "So what's going on 'Ferre? You don't seem your usual self."

Combeferre chuckled and placed the papers he held by his hand to the table, "More like, Enjolras is not his usual self – Well it's nothing, it's just an average stressful day about the Vivmorts."

"Huh?"

"Well, just when I thought we are getting close to the cure – I surveyed one of the Vivmort's D.N.A. when I had the chance to do so, via the venom of the one that attacked today, that Éponine fought," Combeferre sighed, frustration blossomed at the back of his lids, "I thought we were closer to the cure, Courf!" He motioned his index and thumb to curl-up in an attempt to exhibit the proximity of the subject, "It appears that their D.N.A. is far more complex than we think."

"Yeah that and Enjolras not being his usual self, I've noticed that too," Courfeyrac took the opposing bench where Grantaire and Bahorel were.

"Oh, yeah, Enjolras has been stuttering in his papers, most of the time deep in thought, and other times clumsy. Certainly unlike him," Feuilly murmured.

"He's probably sick, you know one of those winter flu that people catch during Christmas season. I should probably check his tongue tomorrow to see if he's caught one of those flus, and probably order Madame Houcheloup some stew – oh my goodness, what if it's way wors-"

"Joly, stop," Courfeyrac patted and marveled at his friend. "He's just maybe… you know aggravated?"

"To be frank, it's the first time I've seen him dumbstruck in five years," Combeferre massaged his forehead to soothe an impending headache.

Courfeyrac ponders for a brief moment, he nodded and grinned and said, "It's probably because of Éponine."

"Whose fever apparently is going to start rather soon," Joly added.

"Oh?" Courfeyrac scratched the back of his neck and resumed, "Then I have a… cunning plan."

"Spare me, Courfeyrac, spare me." Combeferre stood, prepared to exit.

Courfeyrac halted Combeferre's action, reached out for his elbow, grated him back to his previous spot, and held his shoulders in playful firmness. "You're part of this as well!" Courfeyrac demanded. Combeferre pushed the arch of his glasses further his nose bridge with creased eyebrows and an annoyed glare.

"Where is Éponine?" asked Courfeyrac. "Is she in her room?"

Combeferre nodded, his glower never leaving his face.

"Alright, here's what's going to happen," Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre, Feuilly and Joly. "If I am correct, you made this deal with Éponine about the whole Montfermeil thing?" Combeferre nodded. "Since it will benefit Enjolras, and the rest of whatsoever he thinks of our cause, she has to stay. Correct?" Combeferre nodded once again. "Alright, convince him to nurse Éponine and spend the night at her pla-"

Combeferre shrugged Courfeyrac's hands off his shoulders and stood abruptly, "That's enough Courfeyrac, it's getting real absurd," said Combeferre. "It seems rather interesting, but have you seen how the two of them fought like fire and ice the first time they met?"

"That's the point." Courfeyrac shoved Combeferre down the bench once again and he elicited a deep sigh and said, "When they stare and talk and glare at each other… it doesn't feel like it's the first time."

* * *

"For once, Combeferre, I will _not_ attend to Éponine," says Enjolras, fixing the loads of paper that cluttered his work table. "There are far more things of significance to do-"

"Like extend Rue de la Chanvevrie to Burgh De Rott, and overthrow the Imperium." Combeferre recited, arms firmly on his hips, with brows raised. "Besides, it's only one week… After that, there's no more chances we could get."

Once finished fixing his table, Enjolras crossed his arms and carefully scratched the back of his head, "You do know Combeferre that I carefully consider each and every word that you say. May it be rectification, praise, or suggestion."

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"Then I do not appreciate Courfeyrac's words coming out of your mouth."

"It may be Courfeyrac's words but you know me Enjolras, I take these things into further consideration."

Enjolras took a deep breath and threw both of his arms at the back of his hend, "Alright, I'll do it."

"Thank you," Combeferre abruptly nods. _That was easy_, he wanted to doubt.

"I assume you've taken the Vivmort's genes upon examination again," Enjolras was quick to change the subject.

"Yeah," Combeferre replied.

"And the results are?"

"This conversation would just extend further," Combeferre frowned. "You shall go to Éponine, now."

"-And be nice!"

And no more words were uttered after that exchange. Combeferre went towards the laboratory that's positioned in the depths of his clinic, trying to harness the knowledge about the Vivmorts' genetic stream. To his wonderment, the results were complex, a stream of puzzles that only results to bafflement and curiosity; the same results before, the only difference now is that the wonders and mysteries unfolds itself even more.

A dull knock was heard from Éponine's door, which was, Enjolras. Light footsteps rushed towards the door as soon as the knock registered upon Éponine's hearing, and a few seconds later, the door opened for Enjolras.

"What?" asks Éponine dryly, without the spark of defiance that flickered around her. Instead, bloodshot eyes met his gaze, a thin and rasping and clogged voice spoke to him, and a wildly unkempt appearance.

In an attempt to ignore the blatant shift of her appearance, he raised his right arm to exhibit a plastic bag that contained packed soup, "I brought food."

"Cool."

Enjolras cleared his throat; this would be harder than how Combeferre thought it was. He inched up to look straight towards the white veil that separated the private room and the guest room and said, "So, what's up?" Small and idle talks were never one with him, it was hardly an attribute to incline with Enjolras, and wedged between his extremities, was care.

"Rude awakening," Éponine slurred and snorted. It appeared to him that she was not one for committal responses as well.

"Oh." Enjolras tried, he really did try to keep up with superficial conversations, yet to no avail, he always fails.

"Are you coming in?" Éponine turned her back and limped towards the cushion of the guest section of her flat. Her form fell against the dark velvet couch; hair adhered in her forehead, a large and loose black shirt that was unbuttoned till the third and the shirt's lower hem fell dangerously way-above her knees to reveal a bandaged thigh.

The candle-lit room that once was radiated with enthusiasm that blossomed from Courfeyrac's vigor was visibly gone. Rather, dread and mockery glazed the sleek walls and with it manifests the persona of Éponine; from the scent of lavender that invaded his nostrils, from the piercing quietude that brought forth curiosity upon his ears.

"Yeah," He slowly entered the flat; right hand carrying a plastic bag, the left shoved in his pocket. Without the welcoming air of Courfeyrac, Enjolras felt a repellent air that cloaked the flat. Enjolras moved towards the couch and held a hand towards Éponine hesitantly, "Do you want to eat?"

"Sure," Éponine says lowly and ignored the hand directed at her.

Enjolras walked through the white veil that served as a chasm, headed towards the coffee table, took the first seat situated at the left part of the table, and laid the soup from the plastic bag. Éponine, trailing after Enjolras, sat down and seized the soup with the spoon she hastily took from the plastic bag. Apparently, being famished and ill at the same time did damage to her retorts.

"So, Éponine how was life like before?" Enjolras blurted; out of the topic, mindless, and abrupt.

_So you decided to drop the formality, _she flashed a smirk to herself._ Good move. _"Rad," Éponine replied once done with the sixth spoon of soup.

Enjolras allowed her to dine the remaining minutes with silence. Contemplating upon himself, studying the features of Éponine mindlessly. Her eyebrows creased each time she took a sip of water and gulped it. Her manners, though not too refined, were interesting to him. Most of all, the unnoticeable and slight flinch she had every time the fabric of her shirt made friction with her left shoulder. He wondered why Combeferre did not patch it up.

"Stop," Éponine abruptly dropped both of her utensils that clanked together and sat up straight. Enjolras, in response to this, questioningly raised his left brow. "Stop looking I said, I don't like it."

"I suppose you are done?" Enjolras ignored the futile commands that she gave out.

Éponine nodded briefly, "I'm going back to sleep." She stood up, braced to leave.

Enjolras halted her and took one of her arms as he received a tilt of head and a questioning expression for it. "One last thing."

"What?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No," she answered sternly. "Why does every person seem to ask me that question?"

"Nothing," Enjolras let go of her arms and nodded curtly; a sign of farewell.

The moment she peacefully lay rest in her ivory bed, he spared her a few more long and meditative glances. It was said that when someone lies on the deep chambers of slumber, they are on their neutral side; or for some, their side that is not covered by masks. If those were ever true, Éponine would be the person who rests in tranquility. All of the negative aspects only magnified her appeal. All of her defenses were halted and untroubled.

After a few more moments, he strode towards the door and exited the flat. The night was falling fast, and thus dawns another day. _It's just another day_, he sighed to him, apparently frustrated by the lack of progress. Then he detached himself completely from the door and spared it a single lasting glance. _But Éponine, you've never changed, _he thought fondly. _You're still that old liar._

* * *

**HAHAHA DID I GIVE YOU A CLUE IN THERE?**


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